


Anatomy

by audior_audiris



Category: Stargate Atlantis
Genre: Casual Sex, Hand Jobs, M/M, Porn with Feelings, Shex - Freeform, Shower Sex
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-09-24
Updated: 2020-09-24
Packaged: 2021-03-07 16:15:45
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,178
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26630494
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/audior_audiris/pseuds/audior_audiris
Summary: He wants to believe this thing with Ronon is straightforward, he really does...
Relationships: Ronon Dex/John Sheppard
Comments: 8
Kudos: 36





	Anatomy

They pull up outside John’s quarters and John says, easily, “Coming in for a beer?” It’s the same thing he always says, except now it sounds like a euphemism, and they both grin. Ronon manages a nod, which would look about right if there were cameras watching—frankly John’s never sure of anything outside his room—and then the door glides open.

They’ve been doing this for a week now and John still gets a surge of adrenaline when he hears the door close and the room lock activate behind them. 

Ronon’s looking at him with pretty obvious intentions but John likes the semblance of civility, so he grabs a couple of cold beers and flips the caps. Ronon lifts an eyebrow, like John’s trying his patience, but he takes the beer readily enough. 

For a minute or two they drink in silence. Then Ronon sets down his bottle on John’s desk with slightly more force than is necessary. 

“We cleaning up?” Ronon gestures at John’s filth-encrusted clothing, the aftermath of five hours of mudslide clean-up on P3X-721. Weir had called it ‘alliance-building’.

John smiles and sets down his own bottle. Ronon’s always desperate to get to the shower and John’s enough of an asshole to enjoy dragging it out. He moves towards Ronon and reaches up to hook a hand round his neck, working his thumb into the tight muscle.

“Who says I don’t like you dirty?” he says. Then he pulls Ronon’s head down and kisses him hard. 

Ronon makes a hungry sound and puts his hands on John’s waist, pulling their hips together. Even through layers of clothing the contact makes them moan, simultaneously. It’s too much like bad porn and John pulls back, laughing. 

Ronon looks fierce. “I could take fifty showers and still be dirty for you,” he says. 

John’s never sure if Ronon’s good at talking dirty or if his unique grasp of the English language just gives that impression. Either way, John’s suddenly pretty keen on the shower. 

“Lead the way,” he says, but Ronon’s moving already, shedding muddy boots and clothing as he heads towards the bathroom. John allows himself one last swig of beer and follows Ronon in. 

He finds him completely bare, leaning against the sink, removing knives and other minutiae from his hair. Ronon is always beautiful to look at but naked he’s staggeringly so—long-limbed and golden, abundantly muscled, perfect cock straining high against his belly.

John’s struck wordless for a moment but he manages to get his boots and vest and pants off, clumsily. He’s standing there in boxers and a black t-shirt when Ronon leans forward and plants his mouth on John’s nipple.

“Jesus,” John gasps, the combination of hot tongue and wet cotton sending flickers of arousal down his spine. 

Ronon circles his tongue, slowly, then leans back, looking pleased with himself. “Was thinking about doing that in the jumper on the way home,” he says. “Been hard ever since.”

“No kidding” says John, breathing heavily. “You sat there with your legs open so I could see. I could’ve crashed.”

Ronon snorts. “Shouldn’t be watching me, Colonel.”

But John isn’t paying attention. He’s running a hand lightly over the contours of Ronon’s chest, across the delicate morphology of ribs and down into the smooth dip of belly, following the trail of soft hair there, ignoring the heavy cock bouncing against his knuckles. 

Ronon makes a frustrated sound but John’s trailing his fingers back up now, retracing the lines of pelvis and abdomen and sternum, up to the hollow at the base of his neck, over the adam’s apple to his jaw, his chin, his lips. 

“Your body is insane,” John murmurs. Then he moves his fingers away and replaces them with his mouth. 

Ronon lets John taste him slowly while he gets his hands up under the hem of John’s t-shirt and pushes it up. John feels the breath go out of him as Ronon kneads the muscles in his upper back, pushing out tension John didn’t know was there. 

They break off so John can get the t-shirt over his head. Ronon uses the moment to slide his fingers into John’s boxers, pushing them down over his hips, until John gets the idea and yanks them off one-handed, kicking himself free. 

“Finally got you naked,” says Ronon.

John laughs. “I’m hardly holding out on you,” he says, gesturing down at himself, his flushed body, hard cock.

“Yeah,” says Ronon, “you’re pretty easy, long as I kiss you right.” And he leans forward to plant a single kiss on John’s open mouth. 

Then he sits back and looks at John, eyes bright with warmth and recognition. This is the part that John finds unnerving, being caught in Ronon’s gaze when he looks at him this way. Nakedness and dirty talk John can handle—soul-baring eye contact, less so.

John closes his eyes, aware that he’s chickening out, and that the slight pulse in his temple means this is something he’ll need to get a handle on sooner or later. 

He wants to believe this thing with Ronon is straightforward, he really does. He tells himself they’re friends and colleagues who like and trust each other, know each other better than most—and just happen to have some intense physical chemistry. It’s easy and hot and uncomplicated. 

Only—John’s not stupid. Six nights in a row isn’t exactly uncomplicated. 

“Sheppard.”

Crap.

John opens his eyes and smiles. “Shit—sorry, long day.”

Ronon looks vaguely annoyed. “You with me?”

“Yeah—yes. Come on, shower.” 

Ronon’s raised eyebrow tells John that his weird-out hasn’t gone unnoticed but he lets John drag him under the shower anyway. John gets the warm water going and as the first torrent hits Ronon’s gleaming torso he wonders, not for the first time this week, why the fuck he has to over-think everything. 

Ronon’s got his arms up, tying his hair out of his face, so John takes the soap and makes sweeping circles on Ronon’s chest. He works up a foamy lather, lingering over Ronon’s nipples until they tighten sweetly and Ronon grunts. Then John massages the suds up over his shoulders, down his arms and back, relishing the sheer sensuality of Ronon’s wet body. 

Ronon clamps a fist over John’s hand. 

“Keep doing that and I’m gonna come before we do anything, and where’s the fun in that?”

“I’m having fun,” says John, innocently.

“Fuck you,” grins Ronon, pushing his hard-on into John’s hip. 

John’s about to retaliate when he realises this is possibly the best segue he’s likely to get. 

“That an offer?” He quirks an eyebrow comically, keeping it light in case it doesn’t land the way he hopes it will. He’s pretty sure Ronon said something about wanting to fuck him the night they got together but it’s kind of blurry.

Ronon goes completely still. “Yeah?” he says, and John can’t pretend it isn’t flattering, the way the smirk falls off his face.

“Yeah,” says John, rubbing his hip slowly against Ronon’s erection. “I mean, everything we’ve done has been great—really great—but I wouldn’t mind getting properly laid, you know?”

So far, everything they’ve done amounts to a dozen hand and blow jobs and some messy frottage. There’s a million other things in John’s imagination, but whenever they’re alone, things gets urgent. John can’t pretend he doesn’t enjoy how horny Ronon is but he’s actually beginning to wonder—is his sex drive a measure of his youth or is it some weird, primal Satedan thing? Were they a race of super-fornicators as well as super-warriors?

Not that John’s complaining. I mean, for starters, Ronon can go again—wants to go again—almost straight after he comes. And his orgasms are a delight. Watching Ronon fall apart time and again with his dick in John’s mouth or John’s fist has to be the best thing that’s happened to John’s ego in years. 

And right now Ronon’s looking at John like a starving man looks at a steak, which is both funny and hot.

“That’s a yes, I take it?” says John, smiling.

Ronon grins slowly, coming back to himself. “That’s a yes, please, Colonel,” he says. 

John rolls his eyes. “Can we leave the military crap out of this, please?” he says. He’s not sure why Ronon’s taken to calling him Colonel during sex because he sure as hell doesn’t show him the courtesy any other time. 

“Hey,” says Ronon, hands on John’s shoulders, suddenly serious. “Not gonna rush this. I mean, I’m guessing it’s been a while for you, and I’m—you know.”

“What?” asks John. 

“Big,” says Ronon.

“Oh yeah?” says John, amused. “For your information I’m not that sex-deprived, and you’re really not that big.”

Ronon lifts a single, unimpressed eyebrow. “I’m talking relative to your body, not mine, Sheppard.”

Well, okay, John doesn’t actually have an answer for that. 

“Pretty sure you wouldn’t want to hurt me, either, if it was the other way around,” Ronon says.

“Yeah, okay,” says John. “Just—you don’t need to be too careful, okay? I don’t—I don’t actually like careful.” He feels himself reddening, because in John’s world, it’s never been a simple thing, negotiating sex how he wants it. Sex with men is problematic enough in the military, never mind the fact that he doesn’t like it easy.

But something about the way Ronon’s looking at John, the way he’s moving his hands on John’s shoulders, possessive and hungry, makes John think he might have understood him, that he might even recognise himself in John’s words.

“Fine by me,” says Ronon, and starts to move again, against John’s hip bone.

“Good,” says John, shifting the angle of his pelvis so they’re cock to cock—and Jesus, he could climax just from this. “Can we stop talking about sex and start having some?”

“Yeah,” Ronon murmurs, against John’s ear. “Need to come now, though, or I won’t last two seconds inside you. I can take care of it quickly, if you like.”

“Don’t you dare,” John murmurs, turning his face to kiss Ronon. 

When he pulls back Ronon’s breathing hard and he’s getting that frantic look that John can’t get enough of. “C’mere,” John says, moving behind Ronon, pulling the bigger man back against his chest. “Like this,” he says, getting a knee between Ronon’s legs and forcing him to widen his stance, his own cock nudging between Ronon’s thighs. 

John rests his left hand on Ronon’s hip and reaches his right hand around to grip his erection. Ronon grunts and shifts his legs wider again, putting his arms up to steady himself against the shower walls. 

“Oh, yeah,” says John, starting to stroke, feeling Ronon tremble against him. “You are going to come hard and fast, my friend.” Ronon groans, hips moving instinctively, rocking up into John’s fist.

John lets his left hand roam across Ronon’s belly while his right hand works his dick steadily, nice and easy, not quite getting him off, just holding him there on the brink. 

“Fuck,” says Ronon, letting his head drop back against John’s shoulder, dreads falling over John’s shoulder blade. “Oh, fuck—” He turns his face into John’s neck and John can feel his breath coming hot and fast. 

For a moment John lets his mind wander, lets himself imagine it’s his ass getting fucked instead of his hand, Ronon’s velvety-hard flesh breaching him, moving inside him, the tight, sweet ache of it.

“Oh, yeah,” breathes John, “I want you in me so bad.” Ronon says something broken in Satedan and bares his teeth, biting John’s neck lightly. John moves his left hand up to brush over Ronon’s chest, his nipples. He feels Ronon tense in his arms, body arching as he starts to come, hips convulsing as his cock spills hotly over John’s arm.

When he’s fully spent Ronon slumps against John’s chest, his weight pushing them back against the shower wall. John holds him up, running his hands lightly down his sides, across his stomach and chest, feeling Ronon’s heart race, his lungs swell. 

It’s moments like these that don’t feel real to John. Karma’s never worked in his favour. The universe doesn’t drop gifts in his lap. If anything, it fucks him over. Whatever he did to earn this, a man like Ronon in his arms, is beyond him. 

Then John catches himself mid-caress. He needs to cut the sentimentality. He’s the ranking officer in Atlantis, for Christ’s sake. 

He slaps the bigger man lightly on the ass and pushes him to his feet. Ronon stands and stretches, turns towards John, grinning. 

God, that smile.

“Good?” asks John, smiling back.

“Nice,” says Ronon, master of the understatement—though his smirk says it all. “You?”

“Oh, yeah,” says John, glancing down at his raging hard-on. “If I wasn’t interested before—” 

And Ronon’s got the idea already, because he’s turning off the water, shaking his dreadlocked head like a wet dog, shoving a towel at John and padding damp and sleek into the bedroom.

END


End file.
